The Voice Inside My Head
by CodependentCollision
Summary: Beca and Chloe can read each other's minds. It's not as big of a deal as one would think.


**A/N:** So, I finally got a tumblr. Same username as here. You should follow me, cause I need more people to follow. My dash is slow. Or hell, if you don't want to follow me, drop me an ask telling me to check out your blog, because seriously, it gets really boring this late at night. Anyway, I accept prompts on tumblr and that is where this story came from. Anon asked for telepathy!Bechloe with smut. Feel free to drop by my askbox and send me prompts as well. I can't promise I'll fill them, but I'll try. On with the fic!

* * *

It's not a big deal anymore, it's really not.

* * *

The first time it happens is kind of strange. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere Georgia, the middle of the night, not even half way back to Barden. Everyone on the bus is so quiet that Chloe's not sure who's awake or who's asleep anymore, though she really hopes Fat Amy is awake since she's the one driving. The radio is off, and Chloe can't help but sing an endless litany of "bored, bored, bored bored bored" to the tune of _Row, Row, Row Your Boat_ inside her own head. It's not even really a complaint, just a bad habit left over from 8th grade music class.

"Jesus Christ, Chloe, we're all bored, shut up about it already." Beca snaps and Chloe simply apologizes and starts mentally replaying the night's performance instead.

It isn't until the next morning, over a plate of hash browns that she is half certain are going to earn her her place in the Only The Good Die Young group (because really, who needs heroin and hookers when you've got partially hydrogenated fats?), that Chloe really thinks about it.

"Did you bitch me out for my internal monologue last night?" She asks Beca, who stares glumly at her bowl of cornflakes. Thinks, and if she wanted pancakes, why didn't she order them?

"I thought I wanted cereal." Beca says without moving her lips, then looks up and everything is synched again. "Fuck you, internal monologues don't wake me up at three in the morning and get the stupidest tune in the world lodged in my head."

"Huh." Chloe says... and thinks.

* * *

At first, it's like a radio with shitty reception or the old television her parents had in the basement that could barely get a signal on the rabbit-ears under all the concrete. If she stands still in just the right place, she might be able to snag a sentence or two, broadcast a tiny piece of melody, but only when they're in the same room.

She's pretty sure Beca still hasn't noticed.

"You've noticed we're psychic, right?" Beca says, idly plunking out a few notes on the piano during a break at practice. Of course, it's always possible Chloe's wrong.

"Um. Yeah?" Chloe says. "I was starting to think maybe there might be something like that going on."

"No," Beca says, narrowing her eyes. "You were starting to think about mentally humming _I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas_. If you value your life at all, don't go any further with that thought."

Instead, Chloe thinks _The Song That Doesn't End_ for a few minutes and Beca's twitching by the end of practice.

"Seriously not cool," Beca says after the rest of the Bellas have left.

"Sorry?" Chloe says, only she already knows that Beca knows she's not. "What are we going to do?"

"About what? Your awful taste in kids' TV?" Beca shudders. "If you're ok with watching a woman with her hand up a lamb's ass, who am I to make judgments?"

Chloe rolls her eyes. She's pretty sure the waves of exasperation wouldn't actually require an explanation even if they weren't apparently getting direct transmissions from each other's brains. She says, "I was more thinking about the psychic thing."

"Just let it be." Beca finishes packing away her stuff, shrugs. "Either it'll fade out or it'll stay the same... or it'll get stronger until our brains explode. We'll see."

Chloe thinks about how reassuring that isn't, but Beca's already out of the room, so it doesn't do any good.

The never really talk about it again. At least, not out loud.

* * *

It gets stronger, but nobody's brain explodes. From different rooms, from Chloe's apartment to Beca's dorm, from Miami to Portland. Some days it's just like background music she barely notices, others it's a near constant hum of distraction that she just can't tune out.

Chloe's always known that necessity is the mother of invention, but she never really thought about what the phrase means. She understands when she spontaneously manages to block all signals about five seconds after Beca's awed "way to go, super-stud!" breaks into her mind while she's bringing her latest fling, Anna, off with her tongue for the second time in five minutes.

"Sorry about that," Beca's voice is soft, a little embarrassed (and a little impressed) in her head later when the channel's open again. "And hey, how'd you do that?"

"I'm not giving you sex tips," Chloe thinks back at her as loud as she can.

"No, hey, no." Oh, cool, Beca's blushing. "No help needed there. The part where you hit the off switch, though? Really, that's handy."

It only takes them about a week after that to get it down to a science. Chloe's thrilled to be able to give up the awkward attempts to hum Battle Hymn of The Republic while masturbating. She always got the verses mixed up.

* * *

So really, it's so very not a big deal that they never bother to tell the rest of the Bellas. But there's a difference between not being a big deal and not being a pain in the ass. Sometimes it's the mental equivalent Beca standing there poking her until she pays attention, and Chloe can't tune her out just because it's annoying.

They have an unspoken rule about blocking each other unless sex and bodily functions are involved. They've got a lot of unspoken rules now, many of them developed in transatlantic broadcasts full of apologies and worry.

* * *

Selected Excerpts from the Beca and Chloe Communications Commission Rules:

1. Don't answer out loud in public. Really.

2. Chloe is not to psychically earworm Beca with horrible songs, with "horrible" defined as anything Beca would get beat up for if she started humming it aloud. ("So, no New Kids On the Block?" "Not unless you want to die.")

7. Radio silence required during sex, masturbation, in-depth fantasizing, and bathroom trips. ("Prude." "Freak.")

10. Beca cannot just "beam" Bella ideas into Chloe's head so she can tell Aubrey instead of Beca having to deal with her. ("But it would save time!" "No. It really wouldn't.")

15. Chloe is allowed to tell Beca to put her equipment away and go get some fucking sleep, but only if she hasn't made any progress in hours, is looping through the same few notes endlessly and it's after midnight.

21. Try not to pay attention to the weird dreams that slip through sometimes ("Seriously, a matador, Beca?" "Fuck off, you're not supposed to be looking at that stuff." "Yeah, but... MATADOR?")

30. No waking each other up on purpose out of boredom. Ever.

* * *

The signal's coming in from Portland, strong as the same room. Beca's been bitching for over an hour about some family event she got talked into going to, constant insults spiraling in intensity and explicitness. Chloe's not sure the last idea Beca had for her great aunt is physically possible. Even if it is, it's definitely illegal.

"Busy now," Chloe says and she is, trying to pound out new dance routine ideas to bring to the Bellas. "Seriously, on a deadline here, Beca."

At least she's finally learned only to respond out loud when she's alone.

She hears the heavy sigh inside her head of Beca giving in, and things fade down to a reasonable level. The general aura of discontent and frustration still there, but streams of words gone, quiet enough that she can go back to work.

"Thanks," she says, muddling back into her research, trying to keep her volume down too until Beca nudges her and tells her to turn it up, drown out the idiots around her. Chloe does.

Beca doesn't kill anyone, and Chloe finishes her ideas. She feels the glow of approval and joy from Beca when she runs through the finished routine one last time. It's good. Really good. And Chloe loves the sound of their laughter inside her.

* * *

Beca's horny. Chloe knows she should be trying to tune it out, the sympathetic buzz at the back of her brain, the slow curl of warmth in her stomach. But Beca's broadcasting it loud and clear, open on all channels. It doesn't make any sense. Beca's usually good about turning it down. Since they figured it out Chloe's only been in the loop for two of Beca's early morning orgasms. It's not like Beca could tell Sarah that wake-up sex was off the table since they would get Chloe hot and bothered through their Vulcan mind meld. And Beca apologized both times, going blank as soon as she was actually fully conscious.

Beca's not rising out of sleep, unaware. Late in Miami and even later in Portland, she's wide awake (and so is Chloe, now), lying on her back in her bed (just like Chloe). She's wet, wants to be touching herself but isn't. Nervous.

Nervous? Scared.

"Beca? You gonna turn it down?" Chloe asks, hands flexing, brushing her fingers against her thighs.

"Do you want me to?" Beca asks, voice breathy even though Chloe can't actually hear her breathing. "You can stay. I want you to stay."

"Beca?"

"You should stay," Beca says.

Chloe's breathing faster, her skin sensitized. Everything that touches her - her clothes, the sheets, the pillow under her head - feels like someone's hands.

"Not 'someone's'" Beca says. "Don't."

Not someone's, Chloe admits. Beca's.

"Yeah," Beca says, sliding her hand down to her clit finally. Chloe suddenly realizes she's wet too, not sure when it happened, the transition from awareness of Beca's arousal to making it her own. She's thrusting up into a phantom touch, her own hands clenching at the sheets.

"Beca, fuck," Chloe thinks. Aloud it's just a moan, low and long.

"Think about it so much," and Beca proves it by showing her. Against the back of her eyelids, Chloe's watching them in a hundred full color fantasies.

_In the dark, Beca on her back, Chloe pressing down over her, sliding fingers into her, tasting the sweat on Beca's neck, and Beca bucks up underneath her, whimpering for it harder and faster._

_Chloe's mouth wet and soft, tongue tracing and teeth grazing Beca's nipples as they harden with arousal, hand slowly cirlcling around her clit, whispering for her to "hold on, not yet..."_

_Morning light and Chloe's sitting on the edge of the bed, legs wide and Beca on her knees, their hands tangled and braced against Chloe's thighs while Beca uses her tongue to turn Chloe into a whimpering mess. _

_Beca pushing her onto the bed and watching her shift and settle on her back. Knees bent, feet against the mattress and muscles working so hard that the rest of her is arched up as Beca works two fingers into her, stroking against her g-spot . The high keening noise she'll make is one Beca's only heard once before across the miles but never forgot. _

_Chloe crawling up Beca's body, biting kisses into her skin the whole way, sucking and marking, mouths meeting. They swallow each other's gasps as Chloe reaches down and positions the strap-on, slips in and the stretch and fullness..._ explodes behind Chloe's eyes and down her spine, every muscle trembling as she comes hard, alone in the bed, hands still fisted at her sides.

Beca's still there in her head, incoherent but open, and it hurts. Chloe wants to come down, wants to breathe but Beca's still on the edge, stroking her clit. Chloe can't see her anymore, but it's still there as Beca slips her fingers down and shifts to press against her own opening. Chloe makes up her mind.

"I'm coming to Portland," she thinks, and shudders again, eyes closing. Every thing tenses again, Beca's orgasm ripping through like fire. The signal dies and Chloe's cell phone rings. She doesn't want to move, answers it anyway.

"When?" Beca says, voice tinny and distant like it never is from inside. They haven't talked on the phone in months.

"You could have asked inside," Chloe says, still a little breathless and more than a little confused. She reaches out but there's nothing there, Beca's only on the phone, not in her mind.

"No," Beca says, "I need to know. Out loud."

"Tomorrow," Chloe says. "I'll fly out tomorrow."

"Are we going to have to have 'a talk' about this?" Beca asks, and she's there again, just a little, just enough that Chloe knows the right answer.

"No."

* * *

Beca talks to her through the entire flight, switching rapidly between promises of what she's going to do once she's got Chloe in her house and pointless chatter about anything she can think of. It's obvious she's trying to keep it all on the surface, but Chloe can feel the nerves underneath, the 'Danger, Will Robinson' sirens that Beca doesn't want her to hear. So Chloe pretends that she doesn't. Everything's going to be awesome, she thinks until Beca's right there with her, believing it.

* * *

Chloe understands feedback, knows how to balance it, walk the line between an awesome effect and purely painful noise. This is different. She thought it would be like last night. Overwhelming she was ready for, but this, there's nothing but sensation. Everything looping back infinitely. She feels Beca's hand brush her leg and she feels Beca feeling her feel Beca's hand. There isn't a grammar made to explain it and she couldn't use it right now anyway, even if it existed.

"Oh, fuck." Beca groans, snatching her hand away from Chloe's denim clad thigh. "Fuck." And it's voiced and unvoiced and everywhere at once. They haven't even kissed yet, awkward and trembling, turned on as they've ever been, perched on Beca's bed.

"No, don't," Chloe reaches for her, and their hands twist together, and even that is almost too much.

"We touch all the time," Beca says, eyes closed.

"Not like this," Chloe says and she's not even sure if they're speaking or thinking it at each other anymore (neither is Beca). "It's..."

"Different," Beca fills in for her. "Louder."

And that's it exactly. Chloe never noticed before, but it's always quietest when they are actually together.

"Shut it down?" Chloe suggests and the violence of Beca's response shocks her, the raging scream. "Just for a little while."

"No. Not shut down." Beca's still staring at their hands, and Chloe can feel the counterpoint thrumming of their pulses. "Maybe just..."

Chloe feels it getting softer, not gone but subdued. Beca squeezes her hand and smiles, and she still knows what Beca's thinking. The same thing she's thinking, a perfect unison chorus of "kiss me, touch me, fuck me."

It's lips and tongue and teeth, Beca biting her lower lip, telling her how much she's wanted to taste it, her licking her way into Beca's mouth, already knowing how Beca likes it.

The struggle to keep it turned down is harder than Chloe expected, before it was always about not letting Beca listen in. Now she wants her to know, wants to tell, wants to feel everything as much as she can. What she's doing right, what Beca wants next, and she knows Beca feels the same way.

"We'll get there," Beca whispers in her ear. Inside her head Chloe hears, "you know what I want."

Mid-afternoon, and the the sun through the windows is bright and warm. Chloe stands in a puddle of light and sheds her clothes like skin, nothing to hide. Beca grins and silently hums her pleasure, does the same. She wraps her hand around Chloe's shoulder, pushes her until her knees hit the bed.

"Sit down. And remember, I need to breathe in real life," she says, and that's Chloe's only real warning before Beca's dropping to her knees and moving her lips around Chloe's clit, tonguing at it lightly and then with more pressure.

Chloe begs for more, and Beca gives it to her. One hand fingering herself, the other holding her hip, not keeping her from thrusting, just a reminder.

"Show me," Beca says from inside. Chloe feels the narrow channel between them widen just a little, breath and heart catching as she realizes that the taste in her mouth is herself. Beca says it again.

Chloe looks down. Beca's looking up at her, mouth moving, sucking, licking, Chloe can feel the ache in her own jaw and the amazing heat on her cunt, and she wants Beca to feel it all. She drops a hand to Beca's hair, not gripping, but needing another point of contact. Blinks, tears her eyes away from Beca's and opens up. Beca releases her hip, drops her hand to her own pussy, and it's like Chloe can feel everything twice over again. Not the infinity of earlier, but close, close, close enough and everything except her body and Beca's ceases to exist. Beca feels it happening, all of it in sympathy and by proxy. She comes onto own fingers just as she feels Chloe clench and follow.

"Beca," Chloe says, finally, when her breath is back and she remembers that words exist. Her throat is raw, the moans and cries weren't just inside.

"Yeah." It's every answer to every question, breathed against the crease of Chloe's hip.

"Ok." Chloe says, pulling Beca up off the floor and into the bed. The sun's warm enough that they don't worry about covers, just basking naked and sweaty and perfect "Ok."

* * *

It's not a big deal anymore, it's really not. Except for when it is.


End file.
